Derek Winchester
by Socrates7727
Summary: For years, Deaton had been the only one who knew what actually happened between Talia Hale and the hunter who'd come looking for her. So long, in fact, that he'd nearly forgotten. Until two federal agents walk into the clinic with wolfsbane bullets, asking about a woman their dad wrote about in his journal over twenty years ago. TEMPORARY HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

AN Hey y'all so after looking through reviews and some good old fashioned soul searching, I've decided to rework this story. I'll be updating each chapter as I go along and I want to thank you for all the support and reviews! Also I don't own Teen Wolf, Supernatural, or any of the characters!

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"Yeah, yeah I know what the journal said, Dean. I'm just saying this place doesn't like some huge thing, yanno?" The man had been standing there in the lobby for almost five minutes arguing with the person on the phone-Dean. Deaton hadn't heard anything of real importance except that the information that had led them there was from their father.

"Can I help you?" He was abnormally tall, with dark brown eyes not far off in color from his own.

"I don't know, Dean! Figure it out." With that, he hung up the phone. A clear stranger to Beacon Hills, the man looked up without a hint of recognition in his eyes and gave a polite smile. He brought out a shimmering metal badge labelled FBI.

"Hi, sorry about that. My name is Agent Smith, I'm with the FBI, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions." The badge was a good replica but it was clearly a fake. Still, better to play along until he could tell how dangerous this man was or wasn't before trying to call him on that fact.

"Certainly." Agent Smith-as that was his temporary name-smiled yet again in that quick, forced way that adults tried to breeze through formalities.

"Great. What can you tell me about a woman named Talia?" Well that was unexpected. Most people didn't know Talia existed as more than a name on a page-or a headstone. And this man and his partner, Dean, had gotten her name from their dad? Interesting.

"I'm sorry, Agent, but you'll have to be more specific. Do you have a last name?" It was general enough but it was vital. If these two had the Hale name, then it could be traced through the mountains of death certificates and, worse yet, back to him. The Hale Emissary.

"Not at this time, unfortunately. But can there really be that many Talias in Beacon Hills?" That was good, at least.

"Hey Deat-" Scott stopped cold in the doorway. "Oh, sorry I'll be in the back." The man's hand moved off his gun-which definitely was not standard issue.

"No need, Scott." Scott just stood, unsure what to do. "Our friend here would love to meet you I'm sure. Wolfsbane bullets, and all." Scott's eyes widened, staring at the man, but Deaton just offered a small smile. Polite was always a good option.

"You're not an FBI agent. What's your real name?" He seemed to consider for a second before glancing around the clinic and fingering his gun.

"Sam." He held his hands off his gun in a show of surrender. "Sam Winchester." Winchester… Deaton hadn't heard that name in over ten years.

"You're a Winchester?" The man seemed pleased that he recognized the name but also kind of pained at having heard it. Interesting.

"My brother Dean and I-John Winchester was our father." Poor Scott was standing there like he'd been electrocuted. Deaton made a note to work with him on his reaction skills later on.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sam. My name is Dr. Deaton. I'm a good friend of the Argents." By the look on his face, the Winchester recognized the name. "What brings you to Beacon Hills?"

"Our dad," The older man who burst through the door with a glare smacked Sam upside the head and turned to Deaton. "He wrote about a Talia in Beacon Hills twenty or thirty years ago. We think she can help us now." Sam glared, clearly annoyed and hissed under his breath.

"You didn't have to barge in here, Dean." The man-Dean-snorted.

"Well I wouldn't have, Sammy, if you hadn't hung up on me. Introduce me to your friends." Deaton smiled, recognizing the sibling banter he'd used to watch between the Hale kids. He held out a hand to Dean, who was clearly the older brother, hoping for friends.

"Most call me Deaton. You must be Dean Winchester." A tight-lipped smile confirmed that. "This is my assistant, Scott, an honorary hunter in the making." Both nodded in Scott's direction but clearly couldn't care less. Too them, a teenage hunter was nothing-not the true alpha they would likely have killed.

"Scott if you could get your lazy ass-" All eyes turned. "Hot damn." Of course Stiles would walk in at that precise moment. Who else could diffuse and create tension so easily?

"And this is Stiles Stilinski. Stiles, Sam and Dean Winchester." Practically tripping over his own feet, Stiles recovered and smiled but his eyes lingered on Dean. It was interesting how quickly he was drawn to the brothers. Stiles was usually the last to trust anyone new.

"Stilinski like the Sheriff who sent us here?" The boy was apparently speechless, forcing Deaton to step in once again because Scott was still as good as a mannequin.

"Yes, this would be his son." Dean nudged Sam, who ignored it.

"How old are you, kid?" Stiles didn't even seem to mind the condescending look Sam gave him with the nickname-he was too focused on Dean.

"I'm twenty two." Scott snorted from across the room, and Deaton vaguely heard him call bullshit, but he didn't really care. This was just unnecessary, Deaton decided. Even if he was the only one who knew it, Stiles wouldn't get anywhere or do anything with either Winchester because they weren't Derek. He wanted to find out everything he could about these Winchester boys but listening to Stiles was just prolonging the awkwardness.

"Perhaps you boys would like to join us for dinner tonight?" The way Dean's face lit up at the mention of food reminded him of Laura when she was little.

"Us?" But Sam wasn't so quick to trust, it seemed.

"Yes. Myself, Scott, Stiles, and some others you may be interested in meeting." Sam, given the look on his face, was about to politely decline but Dean clapped him on the back with a grin a little too wide and laughed.

"We'd love to, Doc."

* * *

"This is a bad idea and you know it." What the hell did Sam know? Maybe these people knew the Talia their dad had wrote about. It had taken two weeks of boredom in the bunker before Dean had started combing through their dad's journal again and found the two pages that were stuck together. It was brief, as their dad usually was, but it was enough. It was something, at least.

"They offered us food, Sammy. Who knows? We might learn something about Talia." Sam glared but it wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last so Dean just continued loading the shotgun in front of him.

"We could be walking into a trap." Only Sam could pout with his voice alone-he'd been a master of it since they were little and Dean had learned to hate it. And hate him for it.

"Every damn door we walk through could be a trap. Hasn't stopped us before." Finally silence. He'd actually won for the moment. The peace of loading the gun returned when Sam's voice didn't and he relaxed a little.

"You're taking a big risk, Dean." If only he'd been so lucky. So what if it was a risk? He'd just gotten out of hell, what could these people do to him that some demon hadn't already done?

"You don't have to come." The silence following that was a little bittersweet victory. Sam was coming-there was no way he wouldn't-but he was going to pout and complain about it the entire time. Just like when they were kids.

* * *

What was Scott's problem? Just because he couldn't get over his crush on Allison didn't mean Stiles couldn't enjoy the beauty that had walked into his life. Sam was nice but too tall and had and air about him that screamed heterosexual white man. But Dean? Dean was a muddled blonde, freckle-faced, rugged kickass action figure with green eyes straight out of a YA romance novel. Dean fucking Winchester. If they hung around long enough, Dean might actually stand a chance against Derek-because what else did gorgeous men do but compete for Stiles' attention? If only.

"You're drooling again." Stiles rolled his eyes and threw the bio textbook on the floor at Scott's head. Scott caught it before it could do any damage, though. Stupid werewolf reflexes. Sometimes he wished Scott was as stupid as he looked.

"I'm researching, Scott, there's a difference." Scott was going to make some snide remark about just what kind of research he was doing but seemed to think better of it. Instead, the werewolf flopped dramatically on the bed and sighed.

"Whatever you say. What'd you find so far?" Finally a question Stiles actually wanted to answer. About damn time. He was sick of being interrogated about Derek and who he did, or didn't, have feelings for. They were hot-that was it.

"Gee thank you for asking! From what I can gather, these guys are either really extreme and good at what they do, or they suck." Scott raised an eyebrow at him. Come to think of it, he should really talk to Scott about eyebrow care. The ones he had were… passable. But a little plucking could go a long way to even out the long jawline and make his eyes stand out…

"Stiles? I asked what made you think that?" Right. He was gay but he wasn't gay for Scott.

"Right, sorry. Well, in short, they both have shit records-multiple arrests, escaping custody, evading arrest, and even multiple murder counts for each of them. Dean is still a serial killer on record. But I can't tell if they're into deep shit because they're good or if they keep getting caught because they suck." Scott shrugged.

"Does it really matter? They're here." Gah! They were here!? Why the hell didn't Scott tell him!? He wasn't near ready he had to-

"Stiles! Scott! Get down here!" Well shit. Maybe Dean liked the flustered post-research kind of vibe? There had to be something alluring about it, right? Who was he kidding? This was a major screw up if getting in Dean's pants was anywhere in his future.

"Stiles now!" Wait when had Scott left? Regardless, he hurried down the stairs towards the front door. He skidded on the landing carpet like he'd practiced a thousand times and spun perfectly to land on the-shit! He collided head first with a wall of muscle and pulled back to see-Derek fucking Hale standing in a tight T-shirt with bulging muscles and brooding eyes. Of course. Gorgeous and unattainable as always.

"Hey watch it Hale." Derek exhaled a bit in what might have been laughter? They both moved into the kitchen and separated to sit on opposite sides of the table. Why was the McCall's dinner table so huge? In all his years of practically being Melissa's second son, he'd never bothered to wonder or ask why a family of three had a table that could seat twelve.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?" Stiles looked up into pure emeralds and his breath caught in his throat.

"No, no, go ahead." Dean smiled and holy shit was it possible for his heart to beat that fast? The greek god set down the glass of water and stood to get his plate filled. What the hell had Stiles gotten himself into? Did Dean really have a thing for the nerd vibe? Because if so, maybe he could get in a Winchester's pants after all.

"Not now, Sammy." The voice caught his attention. Dean was standing at the edge of the kitchen as if he was waiting in line for the food beside Sam but they were whispering.

"I'm just saying you didn't have to do that." He felt Dean roll his eyes and almost laughed. The only other person whose expressions he could actually feel in the air was Derek.

"Well shit, Sammy! If the Sheriff's son isn't a good ally to have then who is?" Okay he wasn't going to lie that was a little slap in the face. Dean was just getting close to him because of his dad, though did he really care? It didn't make him any less hot. And bribery sex or blackmail sex was still just as steamy as regular sex.

They all took their seats-Scott deliberately across from him so he could kick him in the shin but inadvertently trapped himself between a moose and Allison. If Stiles wasn't getting Dean, he was going to at least enjoy watching Scott suffer. Melissa was the one who finally cracked at the awkward silence.

"So, boys, what brings you to Beacon Hills?" Dean scarfed down food and honestly it was kind of endearing but it also meant his mouth was full so Sam answered the question.

"Our dad left us his journal when he died. We found a paragraph stuck between two pages about a woman named Talia who used to live in Beacon Hills. Dean and I were hoping she might be able to give us some information." Stiles didn't miss it when Derek flinched at his mom's name. No one else seemed to notice, though, so he didn't make a big deal out of it or say anything. Still, after all those years, he couldn't contain the reaction. Stiles had fixated on that more than once over the years he'd known Derek because he knew Derek could control almost anything-even most of his reactions to Kate. But his mom never failed.

She must have meant the world to him, must have been his everything. When he thought about it, about Derek losing her, Stiles had his own little fantasy of Derek confessing everything and falling apart in his arms. He imagined kissing Derek's forehead and brushing away the tears. Imagined Derek clinging to him the way he always wanted to cling to the werewolf. And, only naturally, it usually somehow led to sex.

"Yes, you were saying that earlier," Deaton butted in before Melissa could say anything about the Hales. "But, forgive me for asking, is your mother no longer in the picture?" Both of the brothers seemed to kind of internally grimace at the mention of their mother. It wasn't all that different from the way Derek still winced. At least Derek had something he could relate to, Stiles thought. Maybe then he wouldn't try to kill the hunters-or vice versa.

"She died when we were kids," Sam answered quietly. Maybe Derek would end up not killing them after all? They could bond over losing their mothers as kids? As horrible as that was, it was actually a valid hope Stiles reasoned because Derek had always seemed to lack someone who could understand. But hell if that was the train they were all jumping on Stiles should be included too. After all, he'd been seven when the cancer had won.

"Again, forgive me," Deaton continued to press. "But how did she die?" Dean looked up suddenly as if that question was in his territory to answer. Stiles remembered this from his research binge. He hadn't gotten far into it before being called oh so gracefully downstairs but he remembered an article from a small newspaper. Mother of two killed… but had he read how? Beside him, the joking foodie from before was gone now and, in its place sat a serious, grown-up soldier.

"Our house-in Kansas, where we grew up… There was a fire." Stiles stared at Derek. Of course it was a fire. The word alone seemed to hit Derek like a punch to the gut but did Hale realize? What were the odds of both their childhood homes being burned to the ground? And the odds of their mothers both dying in the flames?

"How unfortunate, you have my condolences." Sam nodded in thanks but Dean was silent and brooding. This was like one of those stories about people who found out they had a twin separated at birth or like doppelgangers who were scary similar. It was certainly some weird shit. Still, it was obvious to the whole table that neither of the brothers had been the same since the fire and damn if that wasn't familiar.

"So, either of you boys gay?" Stiles spit out his drink-conveniently all over Scott. Served him right for asking that question especially after the subject they'd just talked about. Dean, it seemed, was taken aback but Sam laughed.

"No, we aren't, sorry. But with our track records it probably couldn't hurt." There was scattered laughter around the table, most not quite sure what to do with that, but Melissa was apparently sick of being uncomfortable in her own dining room.

"What does that mean?" Sam looked to Dean, as if asking for permission to tell them, but Dean beat him to it. It was funny how much they acted like Scott and Stiles had when they were little. One headstrong and emotional, the other reserved and logical. The clash of brothers who loved each other and, because they loved each other, could have more anger and hate than anyone else in the world.

"You're the one with the track record, Sammy. Why don't you tell them about Amelia?" Sam glared. The brothers locked eyes and Stiles recognized it instantly. It was the look he and Scott used to give each other before wrestling or fighting when they were still around the same physical level. The look that said it's on.

"What about Bela?" Dean's eyes narrowed and it was clearly between the two brothers now and no one else. Stiles just liked watching-he liked seeing Dean all riled up. It was kind of hot and the added bonus of getting inside information was definitely a turn on.

"Don't forget Meg." Sam's hand twitched beneath the table.

"And Jo." Dean winced.

"What about Ruby?" Sam grit his teeth.

"Anna too!" Dean clenched his hand into a fist.

"Can't leave out Jess!" Sam's pupils widened and then flared in anger.

"Oh and poor Lisa!" Dean fell quiet. It was his turn to add another name to the list but he didn't and the silence only churned the tension in the air. Stiles couldn't take the suspense. He wanted to say something, to ask, to keep the information trickling in, but he was too shocked.

"What happened to them?" Or maybe he wasn't. Without breaking eye contact, Dean answered him-his voice cold.

"They all ended up evil, or dead. Or both." And at that, Stiles really did stare at Derek. Everyone, it seemed, was staring at Derek now. Because the fires and the mothers could have been a coincidence and the brooding, self-sacrificing nature could've been a freak thing only Stiles noticed. But Paige, Kate, and now Jennifer too? Either evil or dead, or both? That was too much.

There was no other explanation. Their dad had written about Talia at roughly the right time, hadn't he? The fire, their moms, their horrible relationships, it was all too similar. It was like some freakish switched at birth thing. Like always, Deaton seemed to know more than he was telling and maybe he did but it didn't matter. Stiles wasn't sure how he knew or how he could be so sure but he was. He didn't need Deaton to tell him that Derek was a Winchester-he already knew. And it was so clear, even to the others at the table.

Because the brothers-the three brothers-might have grown up in completely different environments. They might have lived across the country from each other with family neither of them had ever met. They might have never known about each other for whatever reason. But one thing was certain.

They might have been separated at birth, but their fates sure as hell hadn't.

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Thanks for reading! Please review! I apologize in advance for the process of reworking this story.


	2. Chapter 2

AN Hey I'm reworking this story please be patient! Also I don't own TW, SPN, or any of the characters!

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Over five minutes had passed of prickly, awkward silence. Those who dared, snuck glances at Derek. Dean and Sam gave each other dirty looks until they realized there was something they didn't seem to understand, but Stiles just flat out stared at Derek. He wasn't sure which was a bigger punch to the stomach: that his father hadn't been his real father, that his real father was a hunter, or that he had living family-brothers.

"Tell me, boys, what exactly did the journal say about Talia?" The two glanced at each other, as if drawing straws on who had to-or who got to-answer. Sam was the unlucky one.

"Well, it was short. But it seemed that our dad had… gotten rather close… He…"

"Jesus Christ Sammy, just say it. They boned." Sam glared but all eyes were on Derek and he, at least for the moment, was just his usual abrasive loner self. Stiles could feel him getting uneasy though and, while he was probably imagining it, Stiles had always liked to think those feelings he got about Derek were true. Not the crush ones… But the instinct ones like when he thought Derek was uncomfortable or angry even though his face hadn't changed.

"I knew Talia rather well back then," Deaton continued. "When was your father in Beacon Hills?" Stiles couldn't help noticing the way Dean fingered the inside of his jacket. It wasn't a touch Dean would likely feel so Stiles reasoned it was something in the jacket that drew the man. The famed journal, maybe? He would've loved to get his hands on a real hunter's journal even just to read it.

"March of '88." Damn that sounded like a long time ago. How old were these two? Not that age made Dean any less bangable-clearly-but still.

"You would've both been born by then, yes?" Dean nodded.

"We were kids, Sammy here was five. Dad disappeared for a night or two but that wasn't unusual. I don't even remember it." Deaton just nodded but Stiles could tell there was something he was getting at. Other than the suspicion they could all feel. If Deaton knew something and wasn't telling… Stiles would hide catnip and dog treats all over the clinic.

"Interesting. Isn't that close to the time you were born Derek?" Hale clenched his teeth and gave Deaton a glare worthy of Kate or Gerard but answered.

"No." For some reason his eyes stayed on Stiles and, while it made him shift uncomfortably in his chair, it also made his chest all fluttery. He hated that after so long Derek could still affect him so easily.

"Actually, isn't that about nine months before you were born, Derek?" Lydia was the recipient of the next glare and her, it was clear, Derek would actually threaten. Unlike Deaton there wasn't any family loyalty with her. She didn't seem fazed.

"No, it isn't." But at that Stiles had to jump in. He didn't even realize he was doing it until his mouth was already halfway through the first sentence.

"Wait, yes it is! November 7th, 1988!" No one questioned why or how Stiles knew Derek's birthday. When Derek's glare turned to him, Stiles shifted yet again but this time it wasn't agitation it was the sudden lack of space in his jeans. That intensity of Derek's gaze was hot. God no! Bad Stiles! He had a better chance with Dean than he did with Derek especially after this went down.

"Yes, which would mean late January or February-not March." Dean and Sam were looking around the table like they were the new kids in middle school and were obviously missing something. The poor guys didn't even know Talia was a Hale let alone Derek's mother. But Derek had a point… nine months-ten for conception-would've put Talia getting pregnant in January or February. It seemed so obvious….

"Wait!" Shit Stiles didn't realize he'd practically screamed until everyone was staring at him with wide eyes. "You were born premature." Derek stared at him. He'd shattered everything he'd ever tried to build with Derek in the way of trust in this one conversation and he'd be angry about it later. But right now he was involved in his own reality research binge. Even better, it was information about Derek and Dean-his two favorite interests.

"First of all, what the fuck Stiles? Second, no I wasn't."

"Well, actually," Derek again turned to Deaton and shockingly the hateful threatening glare was back. Had it disappeared or at least softened just for Stiles? That couldn't be..

"I wasn't." Deaton gave a half shrug. Probably because Derek had such steel in his voice that even the Hale Emissary-the one who'd probably overseen Derek's birth as a matter of fact-was hesitant to cross him. Stiles didn't blame him.

"No, you weren't. But with your genes…" Of course! That was it! The werewolf gene cut down the nine months to eight! That had to be it! The three were too similar, too abstractly connected, for it to be anything else. Derek stared Deaton down and, just for a split second when Dean and Sam weren't looking, let his eyes flash red. A threat.

"Say it." Deaton had been around through too many alpha Hales to be afraid of Derek but the emotion seemed to motivate him. At the very least, it was out of sympathy.

"Talia told me about a hunter she'd met but I… She thought it was better if you didn't know." Dean finally got impatient, apparently, because he finally stopped watching the soap opera and spoke up.

"Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?" Stiles would've taken bets on who it was that spilled the beans but never, in a million years, would he have bet on Lydia.

"They think Derek is your half brother. Talia was his mother." Dean took that in with a sort of weight that said family meant a lot to him. But Sam… Sam focused on the grammar.

"Was?" Stiles stared at Derek, watching his face and looking for that familiar crinkle in the corners of those wood stained eyes. The one he'd mastered by the third grade. The one Dean and Sam both wore when they talked about their past. The one with wide creases spider webbing off into a million tiny little lines-each one holding a day, a night, a month, or even a year that they'd survived. The one society taught to little boys who lost their mothers.

There it was. Sad and sunken, drilled into Derek's expression with years piling up like old newspapers. Forgotten, but still there.

"Yeah, she died." Again Lydia with the bluntness of blunt force trauma. One of the two brothers asked how but Stiles was still watching Derek like-well, like he always was. It was actually a pretty bad habit, now that he thought about it.

"In a fire." That shut them all up, even Sam. For a solid moment of reflection, it seemed they were all considering the growing possibility that Derek was related to two hunters. Looking between their two scrunchy faces, Stiles saw the same thought in those fanfiction green eyes as those dark chestnut ones. It was heartbreaking but it was identical. _Not more family_. _  
_Family meant someone new was going to die-because that was what family was, wasn't it?

Just another person to lose.

Derek suddenly stood. He didn't look all that different from before, just the same resigned, stoic expression, but Stiles could feel he was unstable. It was the same gut feeling he would've had if Derek's hands had been trembling. Though he was probably just fooling himself, Stiles gave into the fantasy and let himself say he knew Derek was unsteady-that he could just tell.

It didn't matter, Derek was gone.

Whether it was those damn werewolf reflexes or it was just Derek, no one seemed to have seen him go. They all looked surprised, as if they'd blinked and he was gone. Stiles was used to it by now. Derek wasn't going to come back until he was damn well ready, Stiles knew, but he couldn't help the little flip his stomach did at that thought. He didn't want Derek to leave, he never did.

"I know you can hear me, Derek," Stiles whispered under his breath. "I'll help you if I can." Of course Derek heard it-there was no way he couldn't have. Scott heard it, evident by the weird look he got, but he didn't care. It only mattered if Derek heard him before he disappeared for who the hell knew how long to who the hell knew where.

"Well he seems thrilled." Sam and Lydia both shot Dean the same look- _No shit, Sherlock_. Neither said anything, though. Actually, no one stepped in to defend Derek or speak on his behalf, not even Deaton.

"Give him a break. He's…" Stiles wasn't sure what word to put there, exactly, but everyone else was happy to fill in the blank.

"Antisocial."

"A loner."

"Damaged." No, Derek wasn't any of those things-except maybe the last one. But what was he? Distrusting? Hard to get close to? Used to being on his own? Afraid?

"He's what, Stiles?"

"He's Derek."

* * *

Three days of Scott's endless questions, Deaton's smug little smirks, and Derek's silence. More than anything, Stiles just wanted a day-a complete 24 hours-alone in his room with a wifi connection and some red string. He just wanted to understand it all. But between the pack, looking for Derek, and balancing school with everyone else's shit he hadn't had the time to do much more than sleep. It didn't matter, though, because now he was going to research his ass off.

He tossed his laptop onto his bed and went for his desk, checking the mirror to see if he'd gotten that crazy eye thing yet. His eyes weren't bad, actually. It was the bags under them and the flush in his cheeks that screamed obsessive more than anything else. And damn his room really was a mess; he'd thought his dad was just being irritable. But it was true and he could barely see the floor anymore, even reflected back in the mirror. Wait…

Holy shit!

Stiles whipped around in his chair so quickly he spilled out of it onto the floor, his mouth agape.

"What the hell Derek!?" It was one thing to see shadows especially after the shit that went down in Beacon Hills… but it was another thing entirely to see Derek fucking Hale in his bedroom. That was a dream he'd only had once and was not prepared to repeat.

"What the actual hell?! You can't just barge in here! How long have you been lurking there?!" Derek, like always, was silent and just looked at him. There was an impatient sort of anxiety in the Hale's face, though, that was more than usual annoyance and urged Stiles to get over the shock because something was important. Well miracles did exist after all.

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" On that note, what was Derek doing on his bed? God the image of Derek in his bed… Bad Stiles! Focus! If anyone would hear his heartbeat and know what he was thinking about it was Derek Hale.

"I'm not asking for help." Well that was certainly helpful. He wasn't ever asking anyone for help-especially not Stiles, even if it was offered. Because Derek was strong, Derek could do anything, Derek didn't need anyone. Derek didn't need him.

"Great, now that we established that, what _are_ you doing here?" A little sigh whispered its way across the room into Stiles' ears but it was so soft he doubted it was real.

"I want to know their weaknesses." That wasn't ominous at all… Derek definitely didn't sound like he was about to murder someone. Would Stiles be an accomplice if he did? His dad always said anyone involved was an accomplice but did it count if it was just research? It probably did, but what about werewolves? The cops couldn't blame Stiles if a few werewolves decided to rip each other apart. But they would.

"Okay… Who?" Stiles had a pretty damn good idea who but he wanted to be sure. If he was wrong, he didn't want to put any ideas in Derek's head that would end up with both of them in jail.

"The Winchesters." Good to know he was still as intuitive as he used to be. How could he de escalate this situation? Was there even a way to de escalate Derek Hale? All the man seemed to do was escalate and beat the shit out of things-both living and not. What if Stiles refused? He didn't like to think it, but would Derek beat the shit out of him if he didn't do what he wanted?

"Stiles." Right, yes. Paying attention to the hot man-no, werewolf-to the werewolf in his bedroom. In his bedroom… On his bed… Not even wearing his leather jacket so really it was just one layer of clothing between him and… No! Focus Stiles!

"Right, um… Why?" Derek glared.

"Just do the research." Normally Stiles didn't like being told what to do-it usually made him do the opposite. But with Derek it was hot even if he didn't mean it to be. God what would it be like to be dominated by Derek Hale? Stiles had known for a while that he was into BDSM but there was a fat chance Derek wouldn't call him a freak if he ever found out. Still… It would be worth it.

"What kind of weaknesses?" Another ice cold glare. Damn alright so Derek was not in a good mood. Whatever. It wasn't like he wasn't used to it.

"Right, I'm doing the research." He started his searching but he'd already poured over the basic stuff he found before the dinner and it wasn't like it was rocket science. Obviously it wasn't easy, though, because Derek had come to him. Derek didn't need him? Bullshit. If Derek could've done this on his own, he would've. Still, Derek was a force to be reckoned with and Stiles didn't really feel like risking his life.

"Why do you want their weaknesses?" Derek was silent, even as Stiles whipped through site after site of amateur supernatural bullshit.

"Just do the research." Now he just wanted to know more, because Derek wouldn't tell him. But whatever. It didn't matter. There was a reason what he had with Derek was just a crush and not a friendship. He was better friends with his computer than he was with Derek. On his screen, he winced at the cheesy logo. Ghostfacers. Not even ghostbusters-probably copyright issues. Regardless they looked like complete dimwits who were no better than any of the other clickbait amateurs he'd seen already. But they had an entry with the keywords Sam and Dean. It was brief, but they'd obviously met.

"Okay so… They've both lost more people than a rap sheet could tally. Judging by these posts, I'd say Dean is an alcoholic." Shame, Stiles had never handed addiction well. Didn't make him any less attractive, though, and didn't mean he wasn't just as fuckable. And Dean was very… Wait a minute. This was information Derek wanted and it was leverage.

"Why do you want their weaknesses?" The third time's the charm for Derek's annoyance levels. The wolf's face darkened and his eyes narrowed to angry little slits.

"Stiles, I said no." Well fuck him too, then-it didn't matter though. Stiles was still the one with the information that Derek wanted.

"I know what you said, but I'm saying no. I want to know why you want their weaknesses, or I'm not telling you anything else." Derek's glare could've stopped his heart. He didn't like being on the receiving end of Derek's anger because, even when he was pissed, his crush urged him to make Derek happy, but he was persistent this time. Instead of scampering back to his computer, he crossed his arms and stared right back. Derek could be pissy if he wanted, Stiles wasn't just some annoying teenager anymore.

"Stiles." The Hale was going to tell him off or threaten him or, better yet, threaten to rip his throat out with his teeth again. Just to rub it in, Stiles leaned forward and pressed the power button on the monitor. When the screen went black, Derek's anxiety visibly increased.

"Fine," Stiles uncrossed his arms. "I want their weaknesses because I don't care if I'm related to them or not-I don't care who my father was. But I am not going in there helpless. I'm not getting taken out by two half-assed hunters who think blood relation means anything around here. Is that the answer you wanted?" It was clear how angry Derek was from the crinkling of his face but the glowing eyes didn't hurt either. Derek had never liked being forced to talk or be open. But it didn't matter, because he'd done it and Stiles felt like he was on top of the goddamn world. Derek fucking Hale had just admitted that he felt threatened by these hunters and needed- _needed_ -Stiles' help to face them. Those hadn't been his exact words… But still.

"So aside from the death of their mother, Mary, they have a list of tragedies longer than Sam's hair. Apparently there's something called Demon Blood out there on the market? I don't know if it's a different strain of coke or heroin or what but Sam got hooked on it a while back after his girlfriend, Jess, died and went off the rails. Murdered a few people, too. Dean still has three outstanding arrest warrants in three different states. And.. I don't know if I'm reading this right but… According to this Dean has been to hell? And almost started the apocalypse? Sam was also, according to this, possessed by the devil? I don't know.. Maybe this is all code or something but it's what I've got so far." Damn Stiles didn't even realize how long he'd been talking until his throat started to hurt.

"Thanks." Woah, wait. A thank you? From _the_ Derek Hale? Today really was his lucky day after all.

"You're welcome." But Derek was already gone. If he'd gone out the window he'd been damn fast because Stiles hadn't even noticed. He had to have, though, because his dad was downstairs. There was no way Derek was going to risk a run in with the sheriff outside the protection of the pack after the jailbreak he'd pulled a month ago.

It was stupid but Stiles didn't actually really mind that Derek had disappeared. Of course he wished the wolf had stayed. He wished a lot of things, especially involving Derek on his bed… Naked. But those were just fantasies and he knew this was reality so, all in all, he was actually quite pleased with the reality he'd gotten today. He'd gotten Derek Hale to open up, even if he'd pissed him off in the process. Derek had asked for his help-needed his help. And god he'd even said thank you. There was absolutely no way Stiles was going to sleep tonight without images of Derek on his bed, that intimidating glare and glowing blue eyes. Maybe in leather? A whip or a riding crop in his hand… Stiles was definitely not sleeping tonight.

* * *

"Hey Stiles?" Shit if Derek was back already… "Can I come in?" Stiles swirled around in his spinny chair. But those gorgeous green eyes shone down at him and he couldn't move, his stomach suddenly like cement pouring down into his feet and trapping him there. Not that he really minded the more he thought about it… Trapped with Dean Winchester? There were worse things in the world. He wondered if Dean would be dominate in the bedroom-he probably would, he was the older sibling after all and used to being in charge. And damn the thought of Dean Winchester dominating him…

"Stiles?" Shit! Right, okay focus. Focus on focusing… He was definitely focusing on his focus… And on Dean's shoulders, the way the muscle rippled under that flannel shirt. Would those emerald eyes look different in a dark bedroom? They probably… Gah he was doing it again!

"Right, sorry. You wanted to talk?" Dean smiled, easily, and stepped into the room at the invitation. Damn both Derek and Dean in his bedroom on the same day? Maybe his new cologne was enchanted or something. Though, really, was he complaining?

"Yes, about Derek if that's alright." Well this was certainly going to be fun. "Can I sit?" It was weird how polite Dean was being, especially in contrast to Derek earlier that night. When was the last time someone had asked to in his room? Probably elementary school.

"Sure. Why me, though? Deaton knows more than I ever will." Dean's smooth, effortless smile managed to put him at ease. What would that smile look like… No! He had to stop trying to mentally fuck the hunter. On that note, he had to stop trying to get in Derek's pants too-after all, they'd said themselves that everyone they'd ever dated ended up dead, evil, or both. Void Stiles was not going to make a comeback.

"I thought we had more of a... connection." Well hot damn. Was he hallucinating again? He hadn't really done that since Eichen House but there was still a possibility. It could've been a dream, too. If he woke up from this he was going to have to have a serious talk with his subconscious…

"Unless I thought wrong?" Stiles really needed to work on his response skills. Badly.

"No, no! I just… What did you want to talk about? Right you said that already but I mean, what about him?" Again, that easy little smile. How did Dean manage to keep doing that? With those eyes, he shouldn't have been allowed to have such a cute smile too. People were supposed to have one or the other. Otherwise, it was just unfair.

"Sam and I lost our mom when we were very young, I can tell you sympathize. Deaton mentioned you also lost your mother?" Stiles should have been suspicious-this wasn't a conversation about Derek anymore-but those toxic green eyes were just so damn hard to look away from. Maybe because he didn't really want to look away.

"Yes, when I was seven." He hated talking about this, always had always would. But, somehow, the way Dean's face fell and darkened mixed with the softness of his eyes to actually make it bearable. When he was sure his face was scrunched into a grimace, Stiles finally pulled his eyes away. It wasn't safe to let Dean in this easily or this soon, crush or no crush. If not for his own safety, then for the pack.

"I'm sorry, Stiles, that must have been horrible." It had been horrible but who was Dean to say that? It wasn't like- oh shit. Dean's hand on his arm suddenly made him very aware of exactly how close the man had moved to him. Warmth in his palm drew his attention to his lap, where Dean… God where Dean was now holding his hand.

"At least mine wasn't murdered." That was harsher than he'd planned but Dean, surprisingly, didn't seem offended or even fazed. Instead, a tiny smile shone up at him.

"You're very direct, Stiles, has anyone ever told you that?" He nodded. "I like it." Okay deep breaths, Stiles. In and out, in and out, in and out. Why was a compliment from Dean Winchester suddenly like a drug in his veins? His crush wasn't even that big-nothing like the mess that was his feelings for Derek-but still the word _like_ made his knees weak. Thank god he wasn't standing.

"Speechless? That seems unlike you." Stiles' mouth ran dry and his throat refused to let words up, so he just nodded again. "I'll do the talking then, hotstuff. As you can probably guess, family is very important to Sammy and me. We're used to losing people, especially people we love. Family means everything to us-to me-and I really want Derek to be our brother, to be part of the family. But I get the feeling he doesn't trust us." Well he wasn't wrong, but Derek didn't trust anyone so it wasn't saying much either.

"Derek doesn't trust new people." That was bullshit and Stiles knew it but the glimmer of hope it put in Dean's face was worth it. Derek didn't trust anyone-old or new. Not even him.

"Yeah, I can tell. I don't blame him though, poor guy has probably been through hell. He could use a few more shoulders to lean on, don't you think?" Stiles shrugged. More shoulders wouldn't help. No matter what, Derek wouldn't lean on them because Derek didn't ask for help. Derek didn't need help-or him.

"Yeah… Especially after Kate and everything he hasn't-" Wait. What the hell was he doing? Just because he was mad at Derek didn't mean he suddenly had the right to tell the Winchesters all his secrets.

"He hasn't what, Stiles? And who's Kate?" No, he didn't want to be that kind of person. Even if Derek broke his heart and disappointed him a thousand times he wasn't going to be the one who stabbed him in the back. Dean was still new, even if it didn't feel like it.

"Forget I said anything. It's not my story to tell." That seemed to peak the man's interest but even that wasn't enough to make Stiles spill. No matter how badly he wanted Dean to like him.

"Stiles, I feel like I can trust you. Is that true?" He nodded, especially when Dean took his other hand as well. "Well, there was something in the journal that I didn't tell Sam. Talia? She was a Hale." Dean stared at him, watching his face for any kind of reaction the name might cause, but Stiles kept his face blank. Hale didn't mean anything by itself.

"Is that significant?" It was hard to tell but he could've sworn he saw the corners of Dean's eyes crinkle when he played dumb, as if angry. He was probably just imagining it, he reasoned. By now, he was so used to Derek's anger that he projected it on nice people like Dean.

"It wasn't. Until Sammy did some research for me-I didn't tell him why, of course-and found out something interesting. The Hales are one of the strongest and oldest packs in the United States." Okay… No reason to freak out just yet, Stiles. Maybe pack meant a really close knit group of family members?

"Pack?" Again, that crinkle and this time he was sure. Dean didn't like that he was playing ignorant.

"Of werewolves, Stiles. The Hales were, and are, werewolves. Which brings me to Derek: Derek _Hale_. With a human father, there's a chance that he's human and I want him to be human-to be family. But tell me, Stiles and be honest with me. You can trust me. Is Derek a werewolf?"

Shit.

"A werewolf?" _Shit!_ "What kind of prank is this?" The better question was how much time was Stiles trying to buy himself? It wasn't like anyone was going to come save him from this, so what did buying time even get him? Except more time to create some horrible lie. Shit, shit, shit!

"Stiles," Oh god that was a serious voice, that was the dead-mom voice. "You have to understand. Family means everything to me, but Sam is different. To him, a werewolf is a werewolf. Even if that werewolf is our blood and potentially our only living family. I'm just trying to protect Derek." Okay so there was no way he could lie off of that, Dean sounded too sure of himself and Stiles wasn't convincing enough. But he had to do something.

"Even if Talia was a werewolf, which she wasn't," That crinkle again. "That doesn't mean Derek would necessarily be a wolf too. Especially with a human father. In most cases, actually, the offspring turns out completely human and never finds out about it-that was a big problem in the 1400s when werewolf packs abandoned babies that were completely human. Some people actually think that's where the legend of the stork comes from…" Dean was clearly not amused.

"Fascinating," The man slid forward to sit on the edge of his bed, gripping Stiles' hands a little tighter and locking their eyes. "But, it's not quite that simple. Because Talia was an alpha werewolf. Do you know what that means?" Shit! Why couldn't anything just be easy!? Still, it was better to play dumb than to act like he was well-versed in wolves even if he was a hunter in training.

"No." As far as he could tell, Dean bought it. There was no crinkle. Not yet.

"It means that there is no way any child she had would be human. In fact, they would be some of the most powerful werewolves in existence." _Shit shit shit shit shit!_ "Stiles, I'm trying to protect my brothers-both of them. You don't have to trust me, but I can't lose anyone else. I need to know. Is Derek a werewolf?" Stiles' stomach dropped until he wasn't breathing. There was no way to answer this; he was a horrible liar! Dean's electric green eyes bore into him and swirled, pulling him in and refusing to let him look away. In his lap, he could feel Dean's heartbeat in his hands. Fuck did that mean Dean could feel his?!

"Stiles," His mind was just an endless loop of _shit shit shit shit shit!_ "Is Derek a werewolf?" Count Stiles! Damn panic attacks! One-two-three-four breathe out five-six-seven-eight… He was royally screwed.

"That's ridiculous." God he wasn't convincing at all! Derek was going to get killed just because Stiles couldn't lie! Damn supernatural! Damn werewolves, damn hunters, damn everything!

"Is it?" Dean just stared at him, those eyes locked on him. "I need to know if I need to protect Derek, Stiles." His heart was beating so fast it couldn't be healthy. He had to warn Derek somehow-god Derek was going to hate him for this! And he'd just been making progress…

"You don't need to protect Derek, he can protect himself." If that was the only true thing he'd said all night, so be it. Dean didn't like it, though.

"Stiles, I don't want to tear apart my family. I want my brothers-both of them-to be safe. I need you to tell me if Derek is a werewolf." Dean's voice was too level and suddenly his grip on his hands was too tight for comfort. He was going to die.

"You've been drinking again." The flash of anger in Dean's face made Stiles' want to throw up. This wasn't Dean Winchester, the cute goofball FBI-impersonator. This was Dean fucking Winchester-the cold blooded hunter who could snap Stiles' neck in a fraction of a second and hide the body where even Lydia couldn't find it. He was going to fucking die.

"I can see you're very busy with your research," His voice suddenly cold, Dean released his hands with one last meaningful squeeze. "I'll let you get back to that." Dean left without another word, the same uneasy threat lingering in the air behind him. He was actually going to die. For the first time since Aiden and Ethan declared war on the pack, Stiles actually felt threatened. And Derek? Shit Derek! He had to warn Derek!

 **They know! Get out of BH!**

If this was the one time Derek didn't check his phone… Stiles swore to god he would never forgive himself or Hale. God, what if Derek died because of him? Stiles had lost people, sure, but he'd never had anyone die _because_ of him.

 **It's ok.**

It was okay? Fuck Hale! This was not okay, none of this was okay! There were two hunters in Beacon Hills who were Derek's fucking brothers! And they were going to kill the entire pack, starting with Derek! How, in the name of everything holy, was any of this okay!?

"Stop panicking." Derek? How the actual hell did these men keep getting into his bedroom?! As soon as this was over Stiles was welding his window shut and putting mountain ash locks on his door.

"What the hell, Derek?!" It was then Stiles noticed the blood on Derek's shirt. "Wait, are you okay?" Derek collapsed back onto Stiles' bed-damn what was with sexy men and sitting on his bed?! At this rate, it had to be some kind of curse. Holy shit was that a bullet wound!?

"Stop panicking, Stiles." How the hell was he supposed to not panic!? Derek was hurt, Dean and Sam were gunning for them, Stiles had just lied to one of the most dangerous men in the country, and now there was fucking werewolf blood all over his bed!

"I said relax; I did it to myself." Okay Stiles was the only sane one left in Beacon Hills. Now, he hoped this was a damn dream and he woke up in a cold sweat because at least then he wouldn't have to hear Derek say he shot himself. And like it or not that had been one of his recurring nightmares after the nogitsune...

"Is that a wolfsbane bullet?" Derek's silence was answer enough. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you!? You shot yourself with a wolfsbane bullet when two hunters want your head on a platter?!" Derek took a deep breath, purple wisps rising from his chest when he exhaled.

"Tolerance. I'm building up a tolerance to it." Of course he was! How could Stiles not have thought of that? It wasn't like it took years to build up a tolerance to something! It wasn't like they didn't know if wolves could even have tolerances! What a brilliant plan! One bullet and Derek would be invincible!

"Fucking werewolves!" But in his head, his voice kept going. Fucking werewolves, fucking supernatural, fucking hunters, fucking Derek Hale!

* * *

Thanks for reading and for bearing with me! Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

AN I don't own TW, SPN, or any of the characters!

* * *

"Stiles… Leave it." Fan-fucking-tastic! That sounded like the best idea he'd heard all day! Just leave the damn wolfsbane bullet in Derek's fucking beautiful chest and absolutely everything would be fine!

"No, you'll die." Derek flashed his red eyes at him but Stiles frankly didn't give a shit. Wasn't like the wolf was strong enough to do anything to him right now anyways. Grumbling internally, he continued pouring rubbing alcohol over the tweezers and around the wound.

"Stiles, I said leave it." Damn Hale.

"I know what you said. But, honestly, I'm sick of being told what to do in my own fucking bedroom and you are not in a position to do anything about it so either lay still and let me do this or fight me, Derek." The surprise on the Hale's face was well worth the effort it took to say that. On his bed, his patient fell quiet and just watched him, eyes wide and vaguely trusting. It was probably the wolfsbane.

"Bite the rag." He stuffed the towel into Derek's mouth a little rougher than he should have but Derek just squinted at him, eyes red. Derek could squint all he wanted the bullet was coming out.

"I said bite it." As he watched, Derek bit down with a wince. That was a problem for later, though, so Stiles just shrugged it off and took the disinfected tweezers in his hand. Honestly, what the fuck was he doing? Stiles had never done this before and it wasn't like he was some genius with a band-aid. The most he'd ever done was watch medical soap operas. This was definitely not some dramatic coma or a brain tumor…

"Are you going to let me touch you?" Those stupid red eyes just stared up at him, taking on a doe-like quality. Silence was enough of an answer, though. His hand shook but he took the tweezers and brought them above the wound, hovering like a nervous bumblebee. With his left hand, he pressed on Derek's chest an inch or so from the wound. God he could feel Derek's heartbeat through his beautiful, toned chest. Beneath the skin, he felt muscle after muscle tense and twitch at his touch and it was beautiful…

"Mmph." Stiles jumped and again met those deep glowing eyes. His cheeks flushed against his will, though, and he couldn't help feeling like he'd been caught checking out Derek's ass or something. Right, focusing. He was focusing.

Deep breath, in and out, he forced his hand steady. Or, at least, as steady as he could before he said fuck it, it was good enough. With one hand on Derek's chest, he reached into the wound. The hand was supposed to hold Derek down and keep him from squirming but they both knew Derek was infinitely stronger and, if anything, the hand was an anchor to keep Stiles calm. He didn't like giving Derek the opportunity to notice how much power he had. Didn't matter, though, because he needed the calm.

Stiles steeled himself-now or never, right?-and reached into the wound with the tweezers, digging despite the howl of pain from Derek and the knot in his stomach, until he closed around something solid. In one swift motion, he ripped the bullet out and…

 _Crack!_

Well shit alright. In his tweezers, there was not a bullet but what looked like a bone chip. Shit he'd broken off a piece of Derek's rib. Derek was going to kill him when he found out…. Was he supposed to put that back in and let it heal? He glanced at Derek but the strangled expression on the wolf's face didn't give him his answer. Loose sharp things inside the body were bad, he reasoned. With only a slight hitch, he dropped the shard into the bowl on his nightstand and reached again for the bullet. What Derek didn't know couldn't hurt him, right?

This time, when his tweezers found something solid, he pulled slowly and carefully. And, apparently, agonizingly. The groan from Derek's mouth was torture to listen to, long and slow and deep in his throat like his body wouldn't let the scream out. When the bullet was finally out and clank into the bowl, Derek reduced himself to ragged breathing.

"The worst is over," Stiles found himself saying, though why was he comforting the wolf? Regardless, Derek spit out the rag and took what appeared to be deep breaths but could have just been sighs. It was cute, actually, the way he sighed at little things. Not that this was little, but it reminded Stiles of when things were and the way Derek sighed at them like a disgruntled papa bear. The idea of Derek as a dad was appealing… Even just looking at him now Stiles could imagine a little kid under each of his arms-one fast asleep and the other telling them a story. God he wanted that future even if it was so impossible and unrealistic it could never happen. The way his chest ached at the thought made it clear how badly he wanted it and it just hurt even more to know that it would never happen, especially not with Derek. And Derek was the key part of that fantasy.

"Stiles?" He hadn't realized he'd been scrubbing the dried blood from around the wound so hard that he'd begun to scrub the skin off. Sheepishly, he dabbed it dry and tapped a cotton pad over it. Two stripes of white bandage to secure it. Now, he realized, he didn't have a reason to keep his hand on that beautifully strong chest or to feel that steady heartbeat that calmed him more than it should have. With a small sigh and deep regret, he pulled his hand away.

"Stiles," He looked up into unreadable brown eyes. "Thank you." Well damn two thank yous from Derek Hale in less than two days. Maybe he was doing something right after all.

"Don't shoot yourself and you won't have to thank me." Okay… so maybe he was still a little bitter from before. But really, should Derek be surprised? He didn't seem to be, anyways, he just looked up at him with that cool, silent exterior and nodded once.

"Dean was in here." From the flash of red in Derek's eyes, that wasn't a good thing. Did he really hate Dean that much already? They were family, after all, and while that wasn't worth risking everything maybe it was worth a little bit of trust? Who was he kidding. This was Derek Hale and Derek Hale didn't do trust.

"Yeah, he came by earlier asking about you. Wanted to know if you were a wolf like your mom." Why was he just offering all of this information up? Less than three hours ago, he'd made a stand and forced Derek's hand by keeping information to himself and now he was doing the exact opposite? He didn't want to force Derek into anything right now, though. As mad as he was that Derek fucking shot himself, he was more proud that Derek had come to him instead of Deaton or Melissa or even Scott. Derek had shown up at his window, not theirs.

"And you told him?" Talk about a slap in the face. Did Derek really think that low of him?

"No, I'm not some sellout. He isn't sure, he just suspicious right now, but he's becoming a problem." Derek just seemed to consider him for a moment. Consider what? How surprised he was that Stiles wasn't a pathetic excuse for a human being?

"Go hug Scott or something." Stiles raised an eyebrow in question. "You smell like him and I don't like it." Stupid crush! Those words went right to his chest where his heartbeat quickened despite his frantic attempts to stop it. Derek didn't like him smelling like Dean. It made sense-Stiles was technically pack and Dean was now a threat to the pack so smelling like him wouldn't be well received-but Stiles' lovesick brain turned it into more. Derek didn't like him smelling like the Winchester because Dean was a threat. Not a physical threat, a threat to Stiles' attention. It was ridiculous but he let himself fantasize because if he didn't, he'd accidentally say something about it.

"Scott is with Kira right now, probably all puppy-eyed and making out somewhere with his phone on silent." The wolf looked up at him with something like sympathy in his face before he masked it with apathy. "And you bled all over my bed, jerk." Now that the subject was safe again, Stiles could breathe. He watched, half exhausted and half interested, as Derek gripped his comforter and scooted himself to the edge of the bed. With a thud, he landed on Stiles' bedroom floor, the bloody comforter under him, and resituated himself with a hiss.

It was ridiculous but Stiles hadn't really imagined Derek staying the night. Hale could barely move and was drained beyond belief by the wolfsbane but Stiles' hadn't really thought about what would happen after he patched Derek up. Obviously he couldn't go anywhere. He just hadn't really connected that to him staying here. Asleep on Stiles' bedroom floor, less than a foot from Stiles' bed and within reach all night. Was this torture or heaven?

"You should sleep, you need the energy and the strength." Derek seemed to agree by letting his head drop to the side and his eyes close. Why was it always so clean cut but complicated with Derek? On one hand, it was as clear as clear could be-Derek was injured, Stiles helped him, Derek was now going to sleep. But on the other hand, Derek was hot, Stiles was a horny teenager with a massive crush, and Derek was lying shirtless in his bedroom. Granted he was on the floor, but that didn't make it any less sexy.

"Stiles," The voice was quiet, almost weak, but he was instantly listening. "Go to sleep." An hour ago, he'd been pissed at being told what to do in his own bedroom but somehow, now, it was good. Very good. The kind of good that brought up all his fantasies of Derek taking control and having power over him and made his jeans suddenly tight. It was hot, like usual, but it also made his chest ache all over again. Because it wasn't an order to help him, to research, or to stay out of the way-it was almost a taking care of him kind of command. And the thought of Derek trying to take care of him was too much to handle.

"Goodnight, Derek." Thinking the wolf was asleep, he started for his laptop for a distraction. Anything to get the bulge in his jeans down because no way Derek wouldn't hear him taking care of it. But on the floor, Derek growled. Deep and low, the kind that Stiles felt more than heard.

"Go to bed, Stiles." That time, it was definitely a command. Stiles couldn't help himself-he was unbearably hard but also bursting with giddiness and afraid to disobey. A bit awkwardly, he waddled over and collapsed into his bed.

It smelled like Derek.

He wasn't sure why he was surprised but he inhaled the scent like it was a damn drug and buried himself in it until he was nearly drunk on it. From where he was now snuggled into his bed, he could hear Derek's breathing. It was soft and steady, the kind of rhythmic reassurance that told him there wouldn't be nightmares tonight, and he loved it. His crush was stupid and horrible but, in this moment, indulging it seemed to be the best, and only, path. If he listened hard enough-and he did-he could hear Derek's heartbeat. He'd probably made it up and created the sound from wanting to hear it so badly but it didn't matter because, as far as he was concerned, it was real. The steady thump-thump-thump slowed his breathing and urged his heart to match. Soon enough, he was actually close to falling asleep.

"Goodnight, Stiles." He smiled a little bit to himself, loving the way that sounded. He wanted to hear it every night for the rest of his life and, for the moment, it didn't bother him that it would never happen. Because that night, even if it was the only night, it did happen. And suddenly he couldn't imagine his future without Derek. It was beyond dangerous but suddenly every image in his mind ended like this-with Derek at the end of the day, in the same bedroom, saying goodnight. Stupid, maybe, but now this wasn't just a hope for his future-this was his future. Stiles wasn't sure how or when, but he knew for certain that this was what he wanted and he wanted it with Derek. But Derek wasn't just in his future, anymore. Derek was his future.

"Goodnight, Sourwolf."

* * *

When Stiles woke up, he wasn't shocked to see nothing but a bloody comforter on his floor. He wasn't surprised… but he was disappointed. For some reason, though he knew it was stupid now, he'd imagined waking up just in time to see those dark lashes flutter open and those gorgeous eyes still slow with sleep. But that would have been Derek vulnerable and Derek didn't do vulnerable. Desperate? That, Derek did more than he should have, especially considering that most of those situations ended in bodily harm, but never vulnerable.

"Hey Sti-" The sheriff stopped halfway through the doorway, staring at the bloody comforter.

"Hey Dad…" It was early enough that the sheriff hadn't had his coffee yet and Stiles was banking on that to get out of this. Maybe if he offered to make it? Or to clean his room? No, that would be too suspicious and his dad was already on edge. His sheriff instincts made the slightest bit of blood out into a murder scene-they were both lucky that Stiles wasn't a girl.

"Do I even…?" Stiles offered a please-don't-ask smile and his dad gave out a heavy sigh. "Derek?" Well wasn't he one to jump to conclusions without any evidence! Not like he was constantly lecturing Stiles on that very subject whenever he went off on a research binge or was suspicious of someone.

"Well…." With a huff, the sheriff shrugged it off and started to move back downstairs, undoubtedly for his dose of coffee.

"I don't want to know. Just clean it up before I get home." A loud crash shook up through the walls, followed by another heavy sigh. "Scott's here!" Stiles had to snicker under his breath as the werewolf tromped up the stairs and then sprinted down the hall at the smell of blood.

"Morning sleeping- what the hell?" But after seventeen years as Scott's best friend, Stiles just rolled his eyes and started rolling up the comforter to throw in the wash. Did laundry soap take out blood stains? Should he throw bleach in with it? There was some in the back of the garage that he kept for… reasons.

"Cold water and soap." Stiles stared at him but Scott just shrugged. "Allison spent the night one time." And somehow that resulted in blood on Scott's comforter? Actually, no. Stiles decided he didn't want to know. In his bathroom, Stiles tossed the comforter into the tub and began filling it with cold water, grabbing some bar soap from the sink as it did. Scott shuffled in behind him, sitting on the counter just like he had since they were kids, and watched. God forbid he help.

"So, you wanna explain the blood?" No, he really didn't. But Scott wasn't going to let it go until he did and there was no way he had the patience for that along with everything else today.

"I had an accident." Scott raised an eyebrow at him. "My… period. I got my period."

"Dude. You have a penis, I've seen it." Stiles flicked water at his face. He did not need to be reminded that Scott knew what his dick looked like or vice versa. It'd been a dark time and they were four. Still, though, he didn't want to remember it.

"A friend needed help." Slowly, understanding dawned on Scott's face like a fifth grader hearing his friend had a crush on someone.

"Oh my god Derek's back?! Oh my god this is so-"

"Hey!" Scott stopped. "What makes you think it was Derek? I just said it was a friend." Scott gave him a look, or at least tried to, but ended up laughing to which Stiles splashed him again. Scott could go to hell. Maybe Derek was one of the only people Stiles would drop everything for and maybe Scott knew he'd had a secret crush on Derek since they'd met but that didn't make it obvious. Derek never went to anyone for help and he always had Deaton or Melissa before Stiles. Or, at least, Stiles had thought so.

"Why'd he come to you?" Stiles shrugged, trying to avoid the question, but he was beginning to wonder himself. Why had Derek come to him? There was Deaton as the obvious choice first, but even if Derek questioned his loyalty with the Winchesters around there was always Melissa. And even if he felt threatened by her relationship with Scott, he could have got to Cora or Peter-though that was not recommended-or Scott or even Braeden. But he'd shown up at his window.

 _Goodnight, Stiles._ God he wanted to hear that again-to hear it every night. Scott didn't know and, if everything went as planned, he was never going to but it felt right. With Scott's infatuation with Allison, Stiles doubted he could know any feeling except that lust and what could only be described as a crush. Stiles had a crush-a tiny, itsy bitsy little speck of a crush-but it'd been over five years and it wasn't going away. Even now, when he got anxious, he imagined himself in bed with Derek. Usually, it wasn't sexual-though he had plenty of those thoughts too-it was just easy. Maybe Derek would press against his back and spoon him, an arm protectively around his waist. Maybe it'd been a rough day and they would just hold hands, staring at the ceiling in a comfortable silence. Or maybe Stiles would even be brave enough to cuddle into Derek's side and lay his head over the wolf's heart to hear its beat.

The buzz of his phone was enough to jar him from that train of thought. Scott tossed him a hand towel and then the phone but didn't move to keep washing or to drain the tub. Was his dad already at work? That seemed too fast and he knew none of the rest of the pack would be up yet.

 _Stop that._

What the hell? He double checked just to be sure but it was one hundred percent from Derek.

 _Stop what?_

Rude, he thought. Especially for someone who had just saved that sorry little werewolf's ass last night. For someone who had placed his hand on that chiseled chest and felt his heartbeat… Stiles would definitely lick whipped cream off of that chest. Who was he kidding? There wasn't a part of Derek that Stiles _wouldn't_ lick whipped cream off of. Except maybe the ear? Or the armpit? He'd been around enough werewolves to know that extra strength deodorant was not as strong as advertised and he was not putting his tongue there. Did they make werewolf-strength deodorant? Stiles could have sworn there was some line of products for werewolves on Amazon or something but if there wasn't someone should really get on that. Maybe that would be what paid for his college tuition.

 _Stop calling me Stilinski._

Stop calling him? Had Stiles given him the right concoction of drugs last night? Until Derek had texted him, Stiles hadn't even had Derek's number. It only came through as Derek because he was one of Scott's contacts.

 _I'm not freaking calling you Sourwolf._

Who was Derek to even get all accusatory like that at him? He had pulled a bullet from those werewolf abs less than 24 hours ago and he hadn't expected a big thank you but some politeness wouldn't have hurt. Maybe a selfie? A nude selfie? Wait, no bad Stiles! Don't sexualize the werewolf. Still, it wasn't like he didn't completely sexualize Derek in his dreams-though they were all (mostly) involuntary.

 _STILES this is the seventh fucking time in the last ten minutes that my phone has rang! I have caller ID and this isn't funny._

What the hell? Had he gotten hacked or something?

"Hey Scottie. I'm gonna call Derek real quick." Scott shrugged but wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as soon as Stiles turned his back, forgetting there was a mirror.

"I swear to fucking god Stiles!"

"Well hello to you to." Stiles' voice seemed to stun Derek and for a moment the little ball of rage-sorry, big muscular ball of rage-was silent.

"About damn time you actually said something. Quit calling me." Stiles turned to Scott and put it on speakerphone, though he didn't need to with how loud Derek was yelling.

"Derek, you're on speaker. Scott's here. Scott, have I called Derek at all in the last ten minutes?" Scott looked at him for an answer but Stiles just rolled his eyes-he didn't' need to lie.

"No." Angry rumblings came through the phone but Scott was already out of the conversation and headed to some other part of the house to do something other than this. Stiles took it off speaker.

"I don't know what's with your phone, Sourwolf, but I haven't been calling you. Until you texted me I didn't even have your number. So chill, please." Derek hung up with what sounded like a violent press of a button-the thought amused him-but Stiles had had enough drama from him for one morning. He finished scrubbing the comforter as best he could he threw it in the dryer before meeting Scott in the kitchen.

"What was that about?" Stiles shrugged and caught the piece of toast Scott threw him as he slid into his seat at the table.

"Hell if I know." Scott just nodded, chewing his food.

"It's Derek. The hell if anyone knows."

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Thanks for reading and, again, for bearing with me as I rework this story! Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

AN I don't own TW, SPN, or any of the characters!

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When Stiles got home from school, he was more than ready to just collapse into his bed and sleep for the next forty eight hours. His dad would wake him up at some point-probably-to do chores or homework or eat. But, still, the idea was more than appealing. As he unlocked the front door, however, he couldn't help noticing a single rose petal on the floor right where he normally put his shoes. Strange, but he shrugged it off.

He went to the kitchen, like usual, to grab his afterschool snack-which was more like him hoarding all the food he could reach into his mouth because he'd forgotten to pack a lunch again-but there was another rose petal on top of the peanut butter. Was this Scott's weird way of telling him to get a love life? Stiles honestly couldn't think of anyone else, besides his dad, who knew that he ate a spoonful of peanut butter after school almost religiously. It could have just been a joke, honestly, and it wasn't like an entire bouquet's worth had been spread around his house so he ignored his spidey senses and started for the stairs. There, he stopped.

Starting on the bottom stair, there was a thick, prominent trail of rose petals leading up to the second floor. Briefly, he thought of Lydia or, god forbid, Allison mistakenly doing this to his house instead of their intended victim's but this was Beacon Hills. Stiles retreated, checking to make sure his dad hadn't gotten home and somehow miraculously gotten a date. The driveway was empty aside from his jeep, though. With one hand, he reached out and grabbed his trusty bat while, with the other, he snapped a few pictures and got ready to call Scott if shit hit the fan.

Cautiously, Stiles started for the stairs. If this was some kind of prank he was going to kill Scott and Isaac for even daring to leave a mess like this, let alone break into his house. His dad would kill them too, assuming it wasn't a serial killer waiting for the Stilinskis specifically. There were candles on the upper stairs, alternating very carefully. They were all white, and they didn't look like they'd been burning for very long which only made Stiles grip his bat harder. He took another picture, and pocketed his phone.

His bedroom door was ajar. That sight set off so many alarms in Stiles' head that it was nearly impossible to keep track of what, exactly, the threat was. The candles didn't stop either, he could see them on his desk and his bookshelf. He was shaking, now, and his body was threatening to pee itself if someone jumped out or scared him right now-which, honestly, Stiles would not put past some of the pack to do. But he was home alone, and he was not going to call his dad for a prank. So, he gripped his bat even tighter and forced himself, shaking limbs and all, to enter his bedroom.

Before he even looked at anything, he checked the closet and behind the door. Nothing, thank god, but the window also wasn't open so Stiles didn't have the security of at least knowing whoever had done this might have left. Silently, he crept towards his bathroom. The door was ajar there, too, but there were no candles or rose petals on the tiles. His teeth chattered together. Adrenaline surged through his body as he checked behind the bathroom door, and then as he surged and attacked the shower curtain. There was nothing there, though.

Somehow, that was even worse than if he'd found someone hiding in his shower, though Stiles couldn't really explain why. Content that there was no one in his bathroom, he moved back to his room and closed the squeaky door so he would hear if someone opened it again. His spine tingled, and he was still on edge. Again, he checked the closet and under the bed and made sure his window was locked but there were rose petals _everywhere_. He thought he might drown in them if he were to lie down, now.

Stiles moved quickly, realizing the person could still be in the house, and locked his bedroom door with all three locks, including the mountain ash ones. Fuck this was how he was going to die. It wasn't even a cool or heroic death, and Stiles could see the news headlines now-killed in his own bedroom by crazed lover. At least that part would be interesting to read about, maybe? He felt at least slightly secure in his room, now, though, so he stopped and took the time to close the curtains-no way was he getting taken out by a sniper, not this time-and turned on the light to investigate.

The bed was completely covered in rose petals. All red, and all fresh to the point that the aroma nearly overpowered the room. Stiles brushed some onto the floor after taking more pictures and his eyes were drawn again to the bed, now semi visible. On it, was a brand new comforter. Completely identical to his old one, just without the bloodstains or giant tear in the bottom corner. Briefly, Stiles considered Derek. Was this just a really, really creepy way of apologizing and saying thank you? He knelt and smelled the comforter, noticing that his entire bed had been made very neatly, not just covered by the duvet, and almost choked when it smelled familiar. They'd used Stiles' normal laundry detergent. God, what if they'd even washed it in his house!?

The thought made Stiles' skin crawl and he resolved right then and there that they were getting a security system-with cameras-if it was the last thing they did. On his pillow, though, was a manilla folder and, just for a second, Stiles imagined opening it to see nudes. He'd never even taken nudes, let alone sent them, but that was what was always in folders like this in movies and he briefly wondered who's wife he'd slept with before remembered that he was very much a virgin. Deep breath, Stiles, get it together.

Inside the folder, were maybe thirty pictures of Stiles. Not nudes, thank god, but he would have almost preferred if they had been because the pictures were just of him, in all kinds of places doing all kinds of things. None of them were bad or incriminating but he'd definitely never realized he'd been under surveillance-for what looked like weeks-and that made it a thousand time worse. Had he pissed someone off? Was this some sick joke from Jackson, a way to announce his return?

But, as Stiles reached the end of the folder, he felt his blood run cold. There, printed clearly on the inner manila backing, was a red lipstick print. He felt like he was going to throw up. Stiles had no idea what any of this meant-none at all-but he just took more pictures and hid the folder in his desk drawer. His dad was going to be home soon and he needed a plan. So, quickly, he vacuumed and cleaned and grabbed all the rose petals he could possibly reach and threw them in a garbage bag that he stashed in the garage. They made him feel sick, but he thought Deaton might be able to use them to figure out who'd left them.

As the clock neared seven, Stiles opened his bedroom door and did a very thorough, very terrified search of the entire house with his bat. He checked all the doors and windows-all of which were still locked-and tried to ignore the bad feeling that gave him. When he heard a car pull up, he almost peed himself. Thankfully, it was just his dad and the Sheriff was tired enough that he didn't notice the few petals Stiles had missed or the way Stiles looked over his shoulder and quickly locked the deadbolt behind him.

Over dinner, his dad commented on how on edge he seemed. Stiles said he just was worried about a test at school.

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Gradually, Stiles managed to let it go but he was still jumpy for a few days after that. He went to school, talked to Scott, but didn't tell him about the incident, and generally tried not to think about it or look over his shoulder too much. Stiles would tell the pack, he reasoned. Eventually, just not yet, because he wanted to be prepared for their questions with at least some kind of answer. His dad didn't know, either, because he didn't need more stress. Plus, if Stiles told the pack, Derek would freak out and get all protective which would only make his dad even more prickly towards the wolf.

By Wednesday, he was able to focus on school-at least as much as usual-and was planning his newest research binge when he got in his jeep, ready to tell Scott everything. He buckled his seatbelt and started it. He adjusted the radio, locked the doors because he was overly cautious now, and checked behind him before backing up. And, then, he almost shot across the parking lot. Stiles slammed on the brake just in time and managed to get out of the parking lot before he pulled over and just stared at the driver side mirror. There, on the reflective glass, was a bright red lipstick print.

He started to get out, feeling like he just had to run away from this all and maybe throw up a couple times, when his stomach dropped. His mind went to Lethal Weapon. What if there was a pressure plate under his seat? Barely breathing, he pulled out his phone and very carefully lowered it to take a picture of under his seat. He held his breath.

There were wires.

Holy fucking shit Stiles couldn't breathe and he was going to die like this, he just knew it. Wait, no. He couldn't panic yet-not until he had some kind of plan. Who the hell would know how to defuse a bomb? He honestly considered calling his dad because he really felt like he needed his parent right then because there was a fucking bomb underneath him and he was going to die- Braeden. Braeden, the fucking mercenary, would know how to defuse a bomb.

But he had no way to contact her. Crap, think Stiles! He didn't know who else to call, so he whipped out his phone and dialed the only other person he could even imagine helping this situation rather than making it worse. Derek. The wolf answered almost instantly.

"Stiles? Is someone dying?"

"I need Braeden." He could physically _feel_ Derek grimace through the phone but he couldn't fucking care because he was sitting on a goddamn bomb and this was not the time for personal hesitations or grudges. "I need Braeden. Get me Braeden."

"Why?"

"Just fucking do it Derek!" Stiles had never raised his voice at Derek, never. He'd made it a point to never raise his voice at anyone who's history he didn't know. After Scott's dad... Stiles found it hard not to just assume that yelling was a trigger for others, even if it was just playing it safe. But especially Derek. The silence made his gut churn.

"Okay. Where?" Stiles could have sworn he heard a tremor in Derek's voice but now was not the fucking time. Where could a bomb safely go off? Immediately, Stiles tried to minimize casualties.

"Tell her to meet me at the old Hale house." Derek hung up.

When he got there, Derek and Braeden were both already waiting. Derek looked stoic and bitter as ever but Braeden looked annoyed at having been summoned like some kind of mercenary butler. Stiles pulled right up to them, spraying them with gravel, but didn't get out of the car. He rolled down the window.

"What the fuck Stiles?" He swallowed hard.

"I think I'm sitting on a bomb." For a moment, no one seemed to breathe. Derek looked like someone had just punched him in the face and Braeden... Braeden looked intrigued.

"Unlock the door but don't open it. Don't move." Stiles did as she said, Derek watching from the sideline, and she opened the back door. Slowly, she leaned down to look beneath the seat.

"Hmm..."

"What does that mean!? What does _hmm_ mean Braeden?!" She stepped back and calmly met Stiles' face. Thank god, because if another person started freaking out right now Stiles was going to lose his shit.

"It's something, that's for sure. You can open the door, though, and kill the engine it's completely independent from the car's wiring and machinery. But don't move, I can't tell if there's a pressure plate or a timer yet." Stiles killed the engine and tossed the keys out the window to her, but they all held their breaths as Braeden slowly opened the driver side door.

"Okay, Stiles, don't move."

"No shit, really? My first plan was actually going to be jumping up and down on the bomb, Braeden!" Thankfully, Braeden ignored his outburst and just settled herself on the floor of the backseat where she was out of sight. Stiles physically could feel his life counting down, like a timer. Braeden investigated, and slowly undid a couple wires while Stiles still felt like he was going to pass out. Derek actually looked... scared? Why would Derek be scared? Stiles couldn't understand, for a second, why Derek would even be remotely concerned about Stiles dying until it hit him that it was probably because the fucking bomb would blow him up too.

"You should get farther away." Derek met Stiles' eyes. He looked hurt that Stiles would even suggest such a thing and slowly shook his head, taking a step closer just to prove his point. Stupid stubborn werewolf, Stiles thought, he didn't want to be the reason more people died. Slowly, Braeden wiggled out and made Stiles look at her.

"Okay, so it's not a bomb. I'm ninety seven percent sure. There is a pressure plate, though, and wires and batteries which tells me that it will do something if you move, even if that something isn't blowing us all up. Stiles, look at me. You're panicking and I need you not to do that. If you pass out, your weight will shift. So look at me and focus on me, I'm going to try to stabilize the plate." He nodded and tried his best but he felt like he was jumping out of his own skin. Why hadn't he checked the car!? Wait...

" _Ninety seven percent!?_ " Braeden shrugged, not looking up from where she was messing with the thing under his seat. How the hell was she so calm!?

"I'm not going to lie to you or sugarcoat it, if that's what you were looking for. Besides, it could still be a bomb detonator and the bomb might just be somewhere else. Like your house, for example." God his house. His dad!

"But Braeden doesn't mean that there's a bomb at your house, right Brae?" Derek shot the mercenary a very sharp, very meaningful look and she sighed.

"Right, of course not." Stiles sat there for what felt like years, never breaking eye contact with Derek, though the alpha didn't seem to mind. Wouldn't that normally have been seen as a challenge? A threat? But Stiles didn't really have the attention span to focus on that right now. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Until Braeden pulled back and tucked a few tools back into her bag.

"Okay, you should be able to get up now. I think I disabled it."

"You _think_!?" But Braeden gave him a look and he nodded. Slowly, shakily, he turned in the seat and edged towards the exit. Freedom.

"So like... if this does end up exploding..."

"It's not a bomb, Stiles. At least not here. Someone tried very hard to make it look and feel like a bomb, to make you think it was a bomb, but it isn't. I'm pretty sure." Pretty sure was not certain.. But he nodded, trying to take deep breaths, and finally threw himself from the car and straight into Derek. He braced, grimacing, but nothing happened.

"See, perfectly safe!" Stiles was going to snap at her but Braeden was already leaving and Derek was still holding him, surprisingly close even though Stiles had basically crashed into him. Stiles realized suddenly that his hand was over the fresh bullet wound on Derek's chest and yanked it back, already apologizing, but Braeden was already getting into her car.

"Thank you!" She tipped her hat to him and sped out of the gravel drive, leaving them alone.

"Uh, thanks... for getting her I mean. Sorry about on the phone earlier." Derek ignored it, shaking his head. Was the wolf… clammy?

"Why the hell would someone put a fake bomb in your car?" Stiles just shrugged. He really didn't want to get into the whole thing right now and he knew the second he told Derek about the rose petals he wouldn't be allowed to go home. And he needed to go home, to make sure his dad was okay.

"Don't say anything about this, okay?" Derek gave him a look. "I want to tell them at the right time."

"Okay." And with that, Derek got into his camaro and left. Stiles stared at his jeep with something like betrayal because his bedroom was one thing but his baby? That was just cruel.

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Thanks for reading! Please please please review especially because this chapter was all new stuff!


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